


Along the tracks (And to the Moon)

by Kayuri



Series: Calling out, twisting and everchanging [2]
Category: A Hat in Time (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Genius Loci, Have a grumpy bird(?), OC slowly turns into canon character, Self-Indulgent crap 2 electric boogaloo, Slow Transformation, Tags May Change, The sequel arrived!, Time is Weird, Timey-Wimey, Transformation, ahoy for representation, and a trans girl, don't expect much lore please, i'm winging this, marked as complete but if I get ideas more chapters will be added, or as I call it considering the first part, self indulgent, sorry dear tag wranglers, the train is sentient, we now have gays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayuri/pseuds/Kayuri
Summary: Sometimes a train is moving on the tracks in the desert. Sometimes you can hear music in the desert. It makes you curious what might lie there.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Calling out, twisting and everchanging [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119314
Comments: 19
Kudos: 24





	1. The Conductor

**Author's Note:**

> There be a sequel! After utterly exhausting the available characters in "The Forest is calling (can't you hear it whisper?)" I now try to pull the same bullshit with Battle of the Birds. Sadly doesn't lend itself as well as Subcon, but you can't always get what you want, I fear. The ideas breed. So have an Owl Express that _really_ wanted it's conductor back, after it somehow landed in the world of wherever the hell this happens. And no, I have zero idea why. Also, expect at least two chapters, because I probably will manage at least a Grooves to compete with the newly minted Conductor, and maybe even some CAW Agents, Express Owls and Moon Penguins. And yes, there is an allusion to the former story. All one universe here.

You found an empty train station a while ago. Well, almost empty. People don’t come here anymore, haven’t in ages. But the trains still stand, rusty and old. You think it’s a perfect Liminal space. No one ever comes here aside from you, and it’s… strange. You come here to calm down, to look at those trains. You have thought about maybe trying to take a look at those trains, to get them running again. You always liked doing mechanic work, even if it made you a bit of a laughing stock when the “I like trains”-meme became a thing. You might get yourself a book on how to repair a train.

* * *

Getting books on how to repair model trains is easy. Getting books on how to repair actual trains is nigh impossible. You grit your teeth at that, then get yourself a basic tool box. After rooting through your wardrobe you come back to the station, and get onto the first train that has a door you can open. It’s dirty, rusty, but digging into the mechanics, still stained with oil, is calming in the strangest way. You curse, you rage at the parts that don’t move how you want them to, but digging around in the guts of the train is somehow relaxing. Even if you have multiple bruises afterwards and your pants are stained with old, congealed oil.

* * *

You come to the train station after work, but you don’t work on the train every day. Sometimes you just work on cleaning the station itself. The place is dusty beyond recognition, and everything from leaves to some old bird nests are scattered throughout. One of them has egg shells, and another only has some scraggly feathers left inside. You take care in disposing of them, more than you usually would. the leaves aren’t afforded such care, and you just sweep them away. You plan to bring a mop next time. The ground is dirty.

* * *

Getting the dust and grime off the ground is not easy, but you get the best stress from the office out while grumbling and dragging the wet mop over the ground with extreme prejudice. By the end the water is more black than anything, but while the floors don’t gleam, they are certainly cleaner. You grin proudly, and call it a day’s work. 

* * *

The next day you are rooting through old gears and engines again. Old oil stains your hands, and you are up to your elbow in mechanical parts. The stains from last time are still there, and you probably should invest into a hair tie soon. It’s not exactly long per se, but it’s still getting into your eyes.

* * *

Another day, another part of the station. You take to the walls today. They are dusty, yes, but not nearly as bad as the ground was. There are old, faded posters on the walls, too faded to really recognize anything. From the size you guess that they might have been movie posters, but you have no idea for which movies. It’s hard to put a finger on that. You reluctantly take them off after a while. The walls look strangely bare after that, and you think of getting some movie posters just to keep the place from feeling stranger than it already does. Maybe some westerns. And one or two train related ones, purely for the joke.

* * *

You are forced to stay behind at work, and gnash your teeth at that. You don’t know why they want you to stay longer. You always do your work on time, do it well, and you manage to keep your curses to yourself. You wrap yourself in your coat, teeth creaking from the pressure on them. Turns out, some of your co-workers are talking smack about you, spread rumors. That you break and enter. Your boss eyes you with scepticism, but lets you go eventually. You curse on the entire way home, snarl and rant at the air. You can’t calm down, not even after eating and trying to watch TV, and so you grab your tools and slacks, and spend the night in the train station, working away at the train. 

* * *

You get off the rust of the first wagon that night, and the lights working. You grin proudly at that, laugh, and fall onto your back. You lie there for a while, smeared with oil and soot, hair standing on end. And somehow, it’s more restful than anything else. You laugh and laugh. It’s your train, and it’s going to work. You begin working on the wheels after you get your laughing under control, and feel pleased that they are somehow still in mint condition and only need to be oiled up. You grin, and don’t care about the stains.

* * *

The next day in the office is a disaster. You haven’t gone home to clean up, instead come in oil-stained and still grinning, hair falling over your eyes. Your co-workers gasp, one looks particularly faint of heart. You don’t care, and laugh at their reactions. Your boss comes outside of his own office when he hears the commotion, and seems rather taken aback by your appearance. You grin at him, practically daring him to say anything. Nothing comes, and you revel in that small victory all day. Your desk is not clean by the end of the day, and the oil smears won’t be easy to clean up either. You don’t even try, and instead trudge back to the station. Time to go for the next wagons. 

* * *

You don’t need to do as much as you needed to for the other wagon. The furniture in this one is a bit ratty, but easily replaceable, so there is that. You find a mirror in here too, and spend a moment looking at you. You look a bit ridiculous, with all these stains on your formerly white shirt, and you notice that your hair starts to lighten at the roots. You don’t really see what is weird about that, considering that your mother went from brunette to blonde. It’s not weird if your hair does the same, right? Even if it admittedly looks a bit feathery. Must be from your father’s side. You snort at that, and put the mirror away, draping a cloth over it. You’re gonna get that one out later, probably good for exchanging at the pawn store.

* * *

The train takes up your attention all day, and you don’t go to work that day. You have ten missed calls and three messages, but don’t reply. You refurbish the interior of two more wagons that day and night, and you’re unreasonably proud. You pick at some feathers stuck in your shirt after you actually get home that day. You have a day off tomorrow, and while you probably should get your missed day sorted out, you aren’t keen on it. You hum to yourself while falling asleep in a blanket nest, and contemplate buying yourself a hat to keep the hair away from your eyes. It sounds like an idea.

* * *

You end up buying more than just a hat. You also buy a new coat, a dress shirt and a suit. You don’t really know why, but you felt like it. You also end up lugging a new set of kitchen knives home, after you remember the last time you wanted to make a stew and couldn’t cut the meat for it. You sigh when you look at your purchases, then shrug and put the new clothes on, sort the knives inside the drawer, and go back to the train station. It looks alive now, not like that weird, liminal space it was when you found it. Your train (and when did it become that, and not just a weird project?) is looking rather nice as well, and only two more wagons need to be reworked, then the inside is done entirely. You cackle, and end up boarding the train before firing up the engine for the first time. It works, and you feel warm with glee. 

* * *

The train tracks leading out of the station are not as rusted as you thought they’d be. You spent some time walking them up and down, and you are reasonably sure that they can support a moving train. You burrow deeper into your coat, shiver a bit at the cold wind coming through. Urgh. Must be from that weird city where they have their dark forest. You heard the rumors, one of your cousins went to that college. Came back with a haunted look, but refused to say why. You can’t really judge her for that though, college is always traumatizing. At least you heard that. You huff, then shimmy back inside the station and into your train. Your teeth clack, and your gaze falls onto the mirror you still haven’t traded in. You have trouble recognizing yourself. Yet, you can’t really care.

* * *

Quitting work is scarily easy, and you spend all day tending to the train soon. You rarely talk, but when you do you think you sound different, raspier, and not exactly how you remember sounding when you still worked at the office and were forced into socializing with Barabara and Clemens. You’re kinda glad that you don’t have to call them your co-workers anymore. You sigh as your hands run over the console of the train, then fire up the engine. The train is pretty much ready to move. 

* * *

You get the train to move, and somehow it feels as if the whole world is open to you now. You laugh wildly when you stretch your head out of the window, hold on to your hat so it won’t get lost in the wind. You have to stretch a bit, reaching higher points has become harder a while ago, and you are pretty sure the feathers you find in your clothes are not from random birds. Too large. Too numerous.

* * *

You drum your fingers on the console, and you can’t help but ponder. Small grooves are scratched into the wood and metal, your fingers sharp. Your teeth are sharper now. If you can still call them that. You aren’t exactly human, not really. You are feathered, but not a bird. At least, you don’t think so. Then again, somehow that label feels right. You sigh, then get up. You might as well do your self-induced job. See who would board your train. 

* * *

The Express sighs in relief. It’s work paid off, and it finally has it’s beloved Conductor back. In this unfamiliar and yet painfully reminiscent place, it takes what it can get.


	2. The Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Studio relaxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This did not want to be written. Give me back the cryptids of Subcon, those are easier to write for. Less "human", more "supernatural" and me being able to write creepier.   
> _ANYWAYS_ , have me floundering, and Dead Bird studios beding time.

You sometimes wonder where the train goes. It has been driving past you for a while now, And whenever you come back from work you contemplate boarding it, just so you can see where it ends up at. No one ever saw the conductor, and apparently no one controls the tickets either. You want to know what the end destination is, but something holds you back. 

* * *

You do board the train eventually. It’s the weekend, and you feel as if you board it without explicit permission. Shortly after you come inside, the train starts moving again, and you marvel a bit at the inside. It looks… cozy. Somehow. Not many other passengers are on the train, but the few who are don’t even look up when you enter, which somehow helps make you feel more comfortable. And so you take a seat in the cafeteria wagon, and watch the desert fly by.

* * *

The train fills up and empties, but you stay, stay until it eventually grinds to a stop. It’s dark by now, and you can hear steps coming from the first wagon. Most likely the conductor, you think. You don’t really move from your place in the corner, and the sight of the… being coming inside surprises you. You thought that the train is driven by a human, but you are faced with a strange looking being. Feathered, but not really a bird. Sharp teeth, clawed hands, but no eyes. At least, no visible ones. You wonder what they are. That wonderment changes quickly, once they discover you, and promptly start squawking and cussing at you with a distinctive scottish accent. Holy crap, they’re loud.

* * *

You end up getting dragged out of the train by the guy (at least you hope it’s a guy, the voice points to it), and into the train station. A train station next to a rather big warehouse with a bird skull emblazoned on it. The conductor is still grumbling, but at least the cussing stopped. You take what you can get on that front. Eventually, he ushers you inside there, and places you in a weirdly barren lobby, next to empty shelves, before cussing again, but at the telephone. Apparently there is no reception, and there is a storm coming in. Looks like you’re stuck. Great… You and the Conductor eye each other with a rather similar expression, even if you can’t really see his eyes.

* * *

Turns out, this isn’t a warehouse, but an abandoned movie studio. You’re not sure about this, but end up following the tiny bird-thing anyways. The place may be empty, but you can marvel at the place. It’s way, way bigger than you’d think at first, and while the basement is a bit creepy, you eventually end up in a place that seems a bit homelier. And it has a bar, which is a bonus point in your opinion. You feel like you’ll need it.

* * *

Your prediction comes true. Since you’re stuck in this place for the foreseeable future, you ended up chattering with the Bird-thing (turns out, Conductor is actually his name?), and quickly discovered that your tastes in music and movies both differ. A lot. Where he likes western and music that is more traditionally made and folk, you prefer dance movies and disco music. It sparked a debate that felt as if it lasted for hours, and one that ended with the feathery ball of rage to go into the adjacent room to  _ throw knives _ of all things. You instead end up falling asleep over that table you drank at. You can already feel your spine protest. Urgh.

* * *

When you wake up you feel surprisingly well rested, but your spine does crack enough to get the Conductor to look (?) inside with feathers standing on end and asking if you broke anything. You answer with a shrug and point to the table after a contemplation about its suitability as a sleeping place. He grumbles a bit about knowing that it utterly isn’t, then waves you inside the room he disappeared into. You end up talking some more, before he shoves food at you, and you into another door to the side, where a bed is shoved into a corner. He says it’s not his, so you can borrow it. You thank him, before conking out again. This is definitely better than the table.

* * *

You wake up, and your hair is pretty much untameable. You don’t even try it, and so you come out with it being poofy and curly like crazy. It makes the Conductor snort, and gesture at the mirror in the dressing room across the hallway. You end up spending half a day in there trying to tame it properly, but only end up making it worse and when you come out in defeat you have a comb stuck in there. The traitor of a bird-thing falls over laughing at the sight. 

* * *

It feels as if you have been cooped up in this place for days by now. Your clothes reek, and you eventually take to plundering the piles of costumes and intentionally choose the gaudiest stuff ever. It makes the Conductor splutter in outrage, and you laugh at the sight of the tiny thing falling over in his exclamations. Your hair only got wilder these last few days, and you eventually end up exploring the place with your horribly gaudy clothes. Seriously though, why  _ wouldn’t _ you wear that rhinestone suit when you get the chance?

* * *

Okay, so, maybe this was a bit of a bad idea, but you can’t really say that now, not when you’re covered head to toe in glue and feathers. Who even stores this stuff in the basement? Well, the Conductor, apparently. You swear, you’ll be spitting out feathers for days. As predicted, this state you’re in makes the guy squawk, and shove you into a bathroom. Doesn’t help much, though. You’re still left with a consistent coat of feathers that you can’t wash off, and so you suck up and get dressed with them still stuck on you. You pointedly ignore the laughter, and wonder when the hell that storm is gonna subside. You and the Conductor check every day, but it just doesn’t let up.

* * *

Days and weeks blur together, and you have run into more death traps and weird things than you can count. That coat of feathers hasn’t washed off at all, and you think it probably never will. It feels more like it’s actually grown on you. You haven’t left what became your room in a day or two, and instead watched the mirror. You can’t quite recognize yourself anymore. You stopped caring about your hair ages ago, and you’re pretty much… well, you don’t look human. You have feathers, your hands resemble mittens, you have feathers. Your feet also don’t exactly adhere to “human” anymore. You might have to give that label up soon. When you slink out of your room to sit down next to the Conductor one evening, you mutter exactly that while talking to him. He ends up clapping on your shoulder, encouraging you to use whatever feels right to you.

* * *

You… are some weird form of roommates with the Conductor by now, you guess. Studio-mates. You kind of developed a rivalry in the time you’ve been stuck here, and while you are pretty far from being the person you were at the time the storm started, you are still very much on the side of dance movies and disco music. You both squabble over it, if in a pretty good-natured way.

* * *

The storm finally stopped. You and the Conductor both step out to enjoy the sun for the first time in what feels like ages. It’s actually a novel again. You wonder how much time really passed, or if it somehow got bent over, considering what happened to you. You think that that might actually have happened. A look at the train’s internal chronometer proposes that as true. You don’t even know how to react to that, and so you just groan, then declare yourself co-owner of the studio, since it apparently wants you there so much. But not before you get your stuff from your old living place.

* * *

The studio relaxes. It finally has it's two owners back, and now the Train won't lord it over it anymore. It missed the squabbling and the life.


	3. The Watchers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always watching and always alert. The train has it's watchers back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got really invested in this one, and typed it up in two evenings. I had a lot of fun here, and casually inserted two disaster gays, a jewish trans-girl and in general way too many characters that I got attached to. The characters in this one also used to be students at the school from the prequel.

You and your friends can't quite relax. You used to go to college, all of you. Now you're running from what feels otherworldly. You all live together in a house, all six of you, throwing together what money you can get, in hopes of forgetting what happened in that forest next to your school. 

* * *

You are on grocery duty. Have been ever since you dropped out, and shopping for six is not easy. One of you has seemingly fifty allergies. Another one is vegetarian. Two are lactose intolerant. And one can't eat pork because of religion. So yes, shopping is not easy. You're on a budget, and your jobs don't pay as much as you'd like. You sigh and grab another package of noodles and eggs that will go bad in like 3 days. You need to buy cheap.

* * *

Keith and Sam end up pulling you out of the house at 3 am to show you a  _ train station _ of all things. You adore these two and their antics, but you prefer your sleep. You really do. They're kinda apologetic afterwards and even make breakfast as an apology, but you are still a bit cross with them. Despite that, you go back with them, but this time in the daylight. You actually get to see a train come through, and you whistle at the sight. It's gorgeous, and steam trains are kind of rare these days. You get twin-beam grins the remainder of the day for that, and end up shoving them into the nearest bedroom when you're back home while groaning that they should kiss and leave you alone.

* * *

Keith and Sam end up pulling each and everyone of you to that train station at some point, and it makes everyone chuckle, but it also makes you all think of the forest that was at the school. But none of you has sharper teeth and glowing eyes, and so you relax instead. Sara suggests boarding the train at one point, maybe a weekend, and go into another city. You all saved up, and you might as well try to get out. After discussion it's accepted, and while a train ride followed by a shopping trip shouldn't make you all excited, it does regardless. It's been too long since you all got out of the town and away from the stew of memories you all try not to think about.

* * *

It's a bit chilly when you do end up going out for the trip. Sam is probably the giddiest of you, flitting around and laughing in that horrible wheeze of his. Keith looks a bit exasperated, and ends up actually holding his boyfriend by a self-made kiddie leash. You feel like laughing at the image, but refrain. Your own laughter isn't much better than Sam's, to be honest. If anything, it's almost that stereotypical sitcom-laugh, which is almost worse. You end up in the dining cart, all crowded around one table, and joke until the train stops at the station two towns over.

* * *

The chill isn't a nice sensation, and you all kind of crowd inside the nearest store you can find, still joking. Sara is once again almost throwing out her back while cackling, and Jonah needs to duck to fit through the door. Ah, the joys of being way too tall. Serves him right, you smirk, for always hiding the cookie jar. If he hits his head once or twice that's on him and karma.

* * *

Your trip is longer than you thought it would be, and you barely reach the train in time. You still thank the heavens that this is a train where you don't have to pay at all to get a ride, even if it makes you wonder how it is kept running. Oh well, that's for later. You end up back in the dining cart again. Your jokes didn't get better, and you're pretty sure that you are all annoying the other passengers.

* * *

You end up sleeping in a pile this night, and the next morning you all, without fail, complain about aching limbs and elbows ending up in places they shouldn't. You're all idiots, you privately think, but at least you're idiots together. Breakfast is an affair of jokes and ribbing each other. Keith and Sam one again end up french kissing each other at the table, making Sara and Jonah groan in mock-disgust. Life is good.

* * *

You notice bruises on your arms and torso when you look into the mirror later that day. Probably from the pile tonight. They don't really hurt, but they're obvious against your pale skin, and you mentally vow to gently box everyone in the arm once. Especially Ray. Ray was digging his elbow in your gut this morning.

* * *

You don't end up boxing the others, because apparently everyone has these bruises and somehow Keith got himself a black eye on top. Sam is crowing about how he stumbled into the doorframe last night, and inevitably came to his boyfriend and bawled. You really don't know how these two get anything done, but they're kinda cute. You roll your eyes at the exaggerated outrage Keith feigns, and throw an ice pack at him so he can cool his shiner.

* * *

You're all disasters, you think as you look at what is supposed to be your kitchen but looks more like a third world country hit by a hurricane. Somewhere in the corner a pan is burning with oil, the remnants of an omelette stick to the ceiling and Sara sits in the corner screaming. Yeah, no. Take out it is. Pizza sounds good. Your bruises smart a bit as you shrug on the nearest coat, and holler at your housemates that they better write down what pizza they want, or they're gonna get pizza Hawaii. Outrage follows, and you walk out whistling with a list of orders.

* * *

The pizza is about as mediocre as always, and has too much sauce. You really don't know why you all keep ordering at that place, except for laziness, but you all have eaten now and can relax a bit. Keith and Sam seemingly melt into each other on the sofa, with the former hiding his black eye in the crook of the latter's neck, and once again you remark how disgustingly adorable they are. You get back twin smirks and demonstrative french kissing. Ugh. You throw another ice pack at Keith.

* * *

Night falls, and you lay sprawled out in your bed. Thoughts are swirling in your mind, about what happened at the forest, trepidation about how maybe not even the distance can save you. You remember that one student who flickered with fire. Just because the creatures usually keep to the forest doesn't mean they can't leave. You shiver at the thought of those glowing eyes you saw once, and hope that the distance is enough. You hope, and rub your bruised arms.

* * *

Your bruises are black come morning, and just this little bit glossier than they should be. Keith's shiner seems to have spread, and he is grumbling over it and moodily hangs off Sam's neck. He merely grunts at you, and you grunt back just as non-committally. You three have an entire conversation like that while dancing around each other in your kitchen, and Sarah, Jonah and Ray watch you three with bemused smiles from the living room, knowing full well that they should help clean up the mess from yesterday. They don't, and instead provide commentary and nonsensical trick-questions. 

* * *

It's you who ends up with a black eye today. Ray's fault. His and his horribly oversized elbows. One moment you turn around in the kitchen with plates in your hands, next thing you know you lie on the ground with your right eye pressed shut and aching, and shards all around you. You get to lie on the floor for a good while longer while the others try to get all the shards, and you don't even try to open your eye. It tingles and hurts and you just really want to bury yourself in bed. 

* * *

You join Keith and Sam on the couch today, and bear with the lovey-dovey attitude. You're aching, and Keith is as well. Sam has bruises dotting his throat and arms, glossy black and numerous. All three of you ache, more than the other three. Then again, you are the adventurous half and already get bruises from fooling around a lot. Maybe it's just one of these days.

* * *

Sara joins your sofa-pile, groaning when she sinks between the pillows. Her hands tremble a bit, and she falls asleep rather fast, snoring gently. Keith joins her soon enough and starts to drool over his boyfriend, who follows his example. You yourself feel just about ready to fall asleep as well, with your limbs dotted with black and one eye swollen shut. You're not looking forward to tomorrow and the first look into the mirror.

* * *

You look awful. Half your face shines with black, and your eye is barely open. You give Ray the middle finger when you get the chance, and he winces at the sight of your face. He doesn't look so good himself, but that's more because he hasn't slept for a while. You tell him he should sleep more. He tells you you should get your eye looked at. You both know you won't do either of these, and instead get yourself some shitty cereal.

* * *

Your fridge is empty, and none of the others really know how to buy the things you need. So you end up going out, wearing a long overcoat to hide how black your arms look, and a hat as well to kind of hide your shiner. You are squinting the entire trip, and get more than one suspicious glance, glances you return rather happily. You come back with spoils and resolve to not go out for a while. You don't quite feel at home amongst other people right now, and you end up stapling a list of what to get and what not to get against the corkboard.

* * *

You wake up from the by now customary sleep pile and when you sneeze, a feather floats away from your face. You snatch it with a hand that is darker than it should be, and your comfortable sleep-induced drowsiness flees at the sight. You end up screeching, and wake up everyone else with the sound. Jonah squawks at the sight of you, and when he falls out of the pile, a small cloud of feathers rises up. You all feel as if someone poured ice into your veins. You didn't escape. It followed you all the way out here. 

* * *

Neither of you leaves the house this day. Instead, you all try to understand what is going on, try not to flinch at the sight of what you thought were bruises. They're patches of feathers instead, and Ray hesitantly reveals that almost his entire upper body is swallowed by them, and that his legs may not have gone black, but weren't unaffected either. Sara discovers that her short black hair consists entirely of feathers, and only remained undiscovered because she rarely brushes it and it already did look unruly. Sam and Keith both have entirely black faces with pure white eyes. Jonah doesn't even have human legs anymore and has feathers all over, enough to molt. And you? You have a beak, one inhuman leg and arms that border wings. 

* * *

Keith and Sam try to joke about your situation. Say that at least now the term "lovebirds" will be appropriate. It at least manages to make you all snort a bit, but it doesn't help with the fact that running didn't help. You're all twisting and changing. If you keep yourself still, you can see the feathers creep down your arms and hands, see how they begin to resemble wings more and more. Sara is quietly freaking out in the corner, and you can see a small rain of feathers around her, almost as if she is stress molting. Then again, you all are. Your talons curl up, and you clack your beak at the thought of what you might end up as, then suggest packing up. You have nosy neighbors, and you're not keen on being discovered like this. The others agree, and Jonah brings out a few of his oversized overcoats to hide what happens. You still put on a hat, and kinda snort at your appearance. So do the others, decked out similarly. You leave the house behind empty, your personal belongings backed up in luggage.

* * *

For whatever reason, the train you rode with on the weekend is standing in the station, steam rising up. For once, the window is down and you get a look at the interior of the locomotive. Old fashioned, a bit at least. And you get a look at a yellow-feathered being with a serrated beak leaning out of the window while smoking. No eyes are visible, but you all feel as if you're getting eyed up. In the end the bird(?) puts out it's cigarette, and gestures at you to come inside, grumbling. You follow the unspoken instruction, and eventually all six of you crowd together in the dining cart. The Conductor barks and rants and yells, but not at you. In the end he says you can stay, but to try and stay out of sight for now. You accept that, and get led to a sleeping cart tucked away in such a way that it shouldn't be possible. Neither of you question it, not with what is happening right now, and instead all end up piling up for sleep again. Or should it be called nesting?

* * *

Being on the train 24/7 seems to speed up whatever is happening. You all molt like crazy, and Keith and Sam become seemingly more and more invested in each other. Sara suggested that you all seem to become crows, if a weird sort, and Jonah pipes up that crows mate for life, and that that is probably the reason for the two lovebirds being even more disgustingly sappy. Ray and you are inclined to agree. At least neither of you has to worry about eggs any time soon.

* * *

Becoming a bird doesn't seem too scary anymore. Not if it means that you all can actually fly, once night hits, and no one can see you. Sara is best at acrobatic stunts. Jonah rather keeps close to the ground, ironically afraid of heights. Ray is quick and limber, almost on par with Sara. Keith and Sam both fly best at high altitude and together, and you just like to enjoy the feeling of wind between your feathers. Neither of you really looks human anymore, and while Sara says she would've liked to transition at some point, being a bird kinda takes away the gender dysphoria too. She takes what she can get.

* * *

The Train almost hums in anticipation. The Watchers are back, and if it seems to run faster on the tracks and respond to commands of it's beloved Conductor more smoothly, that is entirely imagination, isn't it?


End file.
